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Page 23 of A Wife for the Beast (Scandals and Second Chances #6)

"Poor child," murmured an elderly lady standing nearby, apparently unaware that her words were audible to Evangeline.

"She was quite smitten with him before he went to war, you know.

It broke her heart when he returned looking so changed.

Though I suppose one cannot blame her for being frightened by such a shocking transformation. "

The casual cruelty of the observation struck Evangeline like a physical blow, awakening protective instincts she had not realized she possessed.

How dare these people treat her husband like some sort of monster to be feared and avoided?

How could they forget that beneath his scars lay the same man who had risked his life to save their children during the recent flood?

Her indignation was interrupted by the approach of a gentleman she had not previously encountered, whose youthful handsomeness and confident manner marked him as someone accustomed to female admiration and social success.

He possessed the sort of conventional good looks that would have graced any drawing room.

Fair hair, blue eyes, and regular features unmarked by experience or hardship.

"Your Grace," he said with a bow that was perfectly executed yet somehow managed to suggest familiarity rather than mere respect, "allow me to present myself.

Charles Ashford, Earl of Westbrook. I had the honor of serving with your husband during the war, though our paths have not crossed since his return to England. "

"Lord Westbrook," she replied with polite acknowledgment, noting that he appeared to be one of the few guests willing to approach her without obvious anxiety about her husband's proximity. "How pleasant to meet someone who knew my husband during his military service."

"Indeed, though I confess myself amazed by his transformation from bachelor to being a husband with such remarkable speed. When word reached London of his sudden marriage, society could speak of little else."

The comment carried implications that made her spine stiffen with instinctive defensiveness, though she maintained her expression of polite interest. "I trust society found sufficient entertainment in speculating about our private affairs."

"Oh, undoubtedly. Though I confess myself far more interested in discovering how you are faring in your new circumstances than in rehashing old gossip.

" His voice dropped to a tone of intimate concern that suggested sympathy for her presumed plight.

"It cannot be easy, adjusting to such significant changes in your situation.

Particularly after your recent indisposition—I heard you were quite unwell following the flood?

Such dedication to duty is admirable, though perhaps not entirely wise for a lady of your delicate constitution. "

The subtle condescension in his manner—the implication that she was somehow to be pitied for her marriage and her circumstances—awakened the same stubborn pride that had marked her interactions with Lucian during their initial encounters.

"How kind of you to inquire about my health, Lord Westbrook," she replied with the sort of sweet courtesy that disguised the steel beneath.

"I am quite recovered, thanks entirely to my husband's devoted care.

You cannot imagine how tenderly he nursed me back to health—sitting by my bedside for hours, refusing to leave my side even for meals. "

Her voice had risen slightly, and she noted with satisfaction that several nearby conversations had paused as other guests strained to overhear her words.

"Such gentle hands he has," she continued with deliberate emphasis, "and such patience!

I have never known such devoted attention from anyone.

It quite overwhelmed me, his concern for my welfare.

He would not permit anyone else to tend to my needs, insisting that only he could provide the care I required. "

Lord Westbrook's lips curved into an unsettling smile as her recitation continued, his eyes lingering on her décolletage with obvious appreciation.

"How fortunate for you to receive such attention from your husband," he said, his voice dropping to a more intimate register.

"Though I confess myself surprised that a man of Ravenshollow's reserved nature would prove so attentive to a lady's more delicate needs.

Perhaps you found his ministrations somewhat lacking in certain respects? "

She felt her cheeks burn at the inappropriate suggestion, but pressed on with her brilliant smile.

"Oh, but you clearly do not know him as well as you suppose.

Beneath that stern exterior lies the most tender and considerate of men.

Why, during my recovery, he read to me for hours, selected my meals personally, and even arranged for fresh flowers to be brought to my chamber each morning. Such romantic gestures!"

Westbrook stepped closer, his proximity making her distinctly uncomfortable as he murmured, "Flowers and poetry are all very well, my dear Duchess, but surely a woman of your obvious charms requires more substantial appreciation than dusty books and wilted roses?

" His gaze swept over her form with brazen admiration.

"If you ever find yourself in need of more interesting company, I should be delighted to provide it. "

By this point, her enthusiastic recitation had attracted the attention of a considerable portion of the assembly, though now she found herself wishing for rescue rather than an audience.

"Indeed," she managed, her voice slightly strained as she attempted to step back from his encroaching presence. "How very kind of you to offer such friendship."

"Oh, I had something rather more intimate than friendship in mind," Westbrook replied with a wolfish grin, reaching out as if to touch her gloved hand.

"Perhaps you might honour me with the next dance?

I should be delighted to discuss what other diversions I might offer a lady of your exceptional beauty. "

It was at that precise moment that a shadow fell across their conversation, and Evangeline looked up to find Lucian standing directly behind Lord Westbrook with an expression that would have frozen the blood of anyone possessing sufficient survival instincts to recognize mortal danger.

"Westbrook." The single word emerged from Lucian's throat with the sort of deadly quiet that had once preceded cavalry charges, carrying implications that made Lord Westbrook's face drain of all color.

"Ah, Your Grace!" Westbrook's voice cracked slightly as he turned to face the man whose presence he had clearly not detected, his lecherous confidence evaporating instantly. "I was just … that is, Her Grace and I were discussing..."

"Were you indeed?" Lucian's voice had dropped to the sort of whisper that seemed more threatening than a shout, while his dark eyes fixed upon the younger man with predatory intensity. "How fascinating. And what, precisely, were you discussing with my wife?"

"Nothing of consequence, merely social pleasantries, discussion of her recent indisposition..."

Lucian stepped closer, his imposing height and breadth making Lord Westbrook appear almost childlike by comparison.

"I trust you were not suggesting that my wife requires alternative entertainment to supplement what her marriage provides?

Because if I believed you had made such an insulting proposition to the Duchess of Ravenshollow, I might find myself compelled to respond in a manner that would be most unfortunate for your continued good health. "

The question hung in the air like a drawn blade, its implications clear to everyone within hearing distance.

Several nearby conversations had ceased entirely, as guests strained to witness what appeared to be the prelude to a very public confrontation between two men of vastly different temperaments and capabilities.

"Of course not!" Westbrook stammered, backing away with obvious alarm. "I would never do such a thing. I merely offered my friendship and support should she require it during her adjustment to her new circumstances."

"How thoughtful," Lucian replied with silky menace. "Though I believe my wife's circumstances require no adjustment beyond what I am perfectly capable of providing. Perhaps you might direct your friendship toward ladies who actually require such assistance?"

***

The sight of Charles Ashford leaning over his wife with the sort of predatory charm that marked accomplished seducers filled Lucian with a rage so pure and primitive that it threatened to overwhelm every vestige of civilized behavior he had painstakingly maintained throughout the torturous evening.

He had been trapped in conversation with Sir Geoffrey about estate improvements when his attention had been drawn by the sound of Evangeline's voice rising in what appeared to be animated discourse with someone he could not immediately identify.

The crowd had shifted, providing him with a clear view of his wife being courted by one of the most notorious fortune hunters in Yorkshire, and every protective instinct he possessed had flared to dangerous life.

Ashford was everything that Lucian was not—young, handsome, unmarked by experience, possessed of the sort of easy charm that opened doors and hearts with equal facility.

Watching him bend over Evangeline's hand with practiced gallantry while speaking in tones too low for others to overhear had awakened jealousies that Lucian had not even realized he was capable of experiencing.

The rational part of his mind understood that Evangeline was merely being polite to an importunate guest, that her responses carried no warmth beyond basic courtesy, that she had given no sign of being susceptible to Ashford's obvious attractions.

Yet the primitive, possessive part of his nature saw only a rival male attempting to claim what belonged to him, and responded accordingly.